Long Live the King
by livewiresandwildfires
Summary: In the aftermath of his injury, Alex is back on the top of his game. Things couldn't be better. But when a few months of freelance work leads him right back to MI6, Alex is faced with a new mission accompanied by a lot of old faces. / Slash / Rated T
1. Back on Top

**Sequel to** _ **The King is Dead**_

 **Summary:** "A contact messaged me with an… interesting prospective mission." Yassen propped himself up on one arm, the sleepy pull of the covers falling away, replaced with curiosity. "Interesting why?" He asked. "Interesting because of who is sanctioning the mission." Alex leaned forward enticingly. "It's MI6." (In the aftermath of his injury, Alex is back on the top of his game. When a few months of freelance work leads him right back to MI6, Alex is faced with a new mission accompanied by a lot of old faces.)

 **Disclaimer:** Alex Rider, his universe, and all associated characters and plot lines belong to Anthony Horowitz. Any recognizable works, references, or quotes are credited to their original creators.

 **Warnings:** Established slash relationship, age gap, strong language, injuries, violence. Further warnings may come later.

 **Rated:** T (subject to change)

* * *

Yassen walked purposefully into the upscale hotel, shaking the water droplets from the collar of his coat as he turned it down. The receptionist smiled brightly (in the way all front desk staff do) and handed him the key card he had left on his way out. He never kept anything identifying on him when he was on a mission.

He nodded, business-like to match the character he was playing, and went to the elevator. Usually, he despised elevators, preferring to take the stairs. But a thorough examination of the enclosed space revealed an escape hatch, as well as shock breaks should someone cut the cables. Not that that was likely.

Anyway, even Yassen Gregorovich recognizes that it wouldn't be much fun climbing the stairs to the penthouse.

The elevator dinged, and he stepped out into a small foyer. A single door for the penthouse room stood invitingly in front of him.

Another thing that was unusual for Yassen - booking a penthouse suite. Too high to jump from, too secluded, and often the first place someone would look for a rich man such as himself.

But the building had a strong fire escape and the outer walls were easy enough to scale down. Besides, they had decided a little privacy, a little luxury, would be nice.

He opened the door, and immediately locked his eyes on the balcony. Glass doors ajar, letting a cool breeze in. Drapes fluttering in the wind.

He strode across the room and placed a gentle hand on the door, it opened the rest of the way easily under his light touch.

It was storming outside - rather heavily now. The wind whipped the raindrops into his face, but the figure facing the storm didn't seem to mind the facefulls of water he was receiving.

Yassen stepped forward, wrapping his arms around the waist of the smaller body. Alex relaxed into his hold, leaning against him and covering his hands with smaller, slightly colder ones.

He pressed his lips to soft blond locks, whispering into them, "You should come inside before you catch a cold."

He could feel Alex's smile, even if he couldn't see it. "Any other reason I should come inside?" Alex asked.

"Oh, I'm sure I can come up with a few…" he let his hands trail down, over Alex's hips until he felt the rough fabric of jeans beneath his fingertips.

Alex hummed in response, turning in his hold to give Yassen a kiss. Yassen's hands slipped into the back pockets of Alex jeans, while Alex's hands tugged at his business jacket, expertly freeing it from broad shoulders and tossing it into the room through open balcony doors.

Yassen pulled Alex forward, leading him back into the hotel room, and down onto the king sized bed. The balcony doors were left open, and the storm blew uninhibited into the penthouse room.

* * *

The next morning, Yassen woke cold. The storm had cooled the room, and the space next to him was vacant. He opened his eyes, spotting Alex reclined on the sofa near the still ajar balcony doors. Ruffled hair billowing in the breeze, fanning out like a golden halo.

Alex had his laptop out, typing away with a series of small, clicking noises. The sound was rhythmic and almost lulled Yassen back to sleep. Then, Alex must have sensed Yassen's eyes on him; he looked up, smiling.

"Morning sunshine," Alex whispered softly into the silent room.

Yassen tilted his head, looking out the glass doors to the storm clouds that still hovered, threatening to break. Instead of commenting, he nodded at the laptop.

"Work?" He inquired.

Alex nodded, returning to his rapid typing.

"A contact messaged me with an… interesting prospective mission."

He propped himself up on one arm, the sleepy pull of the covers falling away, replaced with curiosity. "Interesting why?"

"Interesting because of who is sanctioning the mission." Alex leaned forward enticingly. "It's MI6."

Yassen felt his eyes widen fractionally. Before he had made the conscious decision to, he was sliding out of bed and crossing the room. He grabbed the laptop without asking, casting his eyes over the screen.

"Do they know-"

"That it's me?" Alex interrupted. "No, I don't think so."

Yassen examined the screen. The email had been routed through a dozen countries, but Yassen knew it originated in England. In fact, it had originated in a very specific house in London, in Chelsea, on Cheyne Walk.

After MI6 had burned Alex, repossessing his assets, Yassen had looked into getting what he could without them knowing. There was little he could do without them becoming aware, but he did his best. Alex's money was a lost cause, but his house? Yassen thought he could at least keep that close.

He knew '6 wouldn't sell Alex's house, not to just anyone. Ian Rider had turned the house into a fortress, it was a useful asset to keep in their arsenal.

They ended up turning the house into a kind of safe house, similar to American witness protection. Yassen had hacked MI6 records, and made sure that the 'witness' was someone he could use. Someone on his side.

He had been in luck that MI6 had caught one of his old Scorpia contacts. Callum Gates was an old operative. He used to find customers for Scorpia - or more accurately, found Scorpia for the people begging to be customers. That was at the height of their power. He knew a lot about many of Scorpia's old clients, and future clients as well. MI6 had promised protection in exchange for names. Officially, at least.

Unofficially, the reason that Gates was being protected was because MI6 wasn't perfect. Sometimes, they needed outside help. Sometimes, that help needed to come from the bad guys. So, Gates was alive so that he could find disposable bad guys for hire when MI6 needed them. Apparently, they needed them now.

Apparently, they needed Alex. Again. They just didn't realize it.

"Are you going to take the mission?" Yassen asked.

Alex was only just getting into the game on this side of things. He had gained a name faster than Yassen had expected. He was starting to get a reputation. Probably because he was so young.

It was rare that an operative emerged - already highly skilled and experienced - at such a young age. MI6 had seen the use in Alex's age when he was just fourteen, and the rest of the criminal world saw it as well, even with a few more years tagged on.

No one had seemed to put two and two together, connecting Alex to this unknown young operative. Alex was careful never to meet in person with anyone who could possibly identify him. Those that he couldn't help but come into contact with, he met in disguise. Or Yassen went as an official liaison.

"Maybe," Alex answered, repossessing the laptop. "It would be suspicious if I didn't, don't you think?"

If MI6 didn't know that this new player was really Alex, if they thought this was an isolated incident, then yes, it would be suspicious of Alex to refuse the mission. After all, Alex had accepted nearly every mission he had been offered. Had accepted every mission offered by an intelligence organization, fullstop.

In fact, that is most likely how MI6 had found out. Alex had worked with the CIA just last week. Yassen is sure that Joe Byrne would have been bursting with excitement to let MI6 know that there could be a replacement for the young spy they had lost.

Despite how suspicious it would seem for Alex to refuse, a part of him still wanted Alex to take that route. Byrne and Jones weren't idiots. Maybe they didn't see the connection between this new operative and their old one, they probably didn't even consider it a possibility, but it was tempting fate for Alex to play so close to them.

"I don't think you should do it."

Alex frowned, not surprised by Yassen's opinion, but he also didn't look like he agreed.

"Alex…" he used an admonishing tone, the kind of tone someone would use to scold a naughty child, instantly realizing that was a mistake. He knew it would drive Alex crazy.

It wasn't something Alex was well acquainted with. People had treated him like an adult for most of his life, and being treated his age was a novel and not entirely welcome experience. Alex turned a sharp, icy glare on him. (Yassen liked to think Alex learned that expression from him.)

Alex clenched his teeth, and Yassen swore he could hear the grind of enamel.

"I'm going to take it."


	2. Interlude

/Wolf/

The hotel was of a higher class than they were used to. Wolf lay sprawled across his double bed - one that he didn't have to share - feeling a little overwhelmed by the luxury.

He was used to sleeping on rock-ridden desert floors, not plush beds layden with duvets of a material so fancy, Wolf couldn't even hazard a guess as to what it was.

He was used to army rations where the beef, chicken, and pork all tasted the same (and not like beef, chicken _or_ pork). Now, he had a mini fridge within arms reach. A cold beer begging to be cracked open, and an assurance that anything, including room service, was complimentary.

He was used to a loud army barracks, surrounded by the sound of gunfire. His three annoying roommates (some more irritating than others) keeping him up at all hours. Now his room was quiet, solitary. A door on one wall the only connection between him and another member of his team.

He wondered if any of his teammates were feeling lonely right now. If they were, they were unlikely to admit it. Just as stubborn as Wolf himself.

He wondered if Cub was lonely right now, all by himself in a stark hospital in a city he doesn't know.

It must be lonely, with only them for company. Wolf for one thought they were _excellent_ company, but they weren't family. They weren't even friends, really. It must suck being that alone.

Wolf couldn't even imagine. He had a huge family, and K unit would be his friends for life. Cub… Cub had no one.

There was a knock on the door adjoining his room to Fox's. Wolf called out (louder than he meant to) for him to come in. The door swung in soundlessly, revealing a bedraggled, black haired soldier carrying a cellphone.

Fox crossed the room, sitting on Wolf's bed without further invitation. He said nothing, simply gesturing to the phone in hand. It was a text from Cub.

 _Don't worry about me :D_

Wolf frowned. What did that mean? He looked up at Fox in question, but didn't receive an answer. Wolf remembered the files on Cub - the few that he had been privileged enough to read - stating the boys aversions to hospitals. Listing all the times he had simply disappeared from his sickbed.

"Tell him not to do anything stupid."

 _Don't do anything stupid_

* * *

/Tulip Jones/

It was early in the morning, sun barely visible through the London storm clouds. It was early, yes, but to Mrs. Jones it was incredibly late. She had been pouring over these files all night, agonizing over this decision.

Even for the director of MI6, it was unusual to stay through the night. Not when they were experiencing a relative time of peace - no impending world catastrophes. But then, many things could be called unusual when concerning this particular agent.

Alex Rider.

He didn't call, he didn't write. He hadn't contacted them in months. This had never happened before, not to this extent. Alex always made contact. He might disappear for a few days, even up to a week, but he was always sure to call.

 _I'm fine. I'm better. I'm coming back._

Since he hadn't contacted them, for months now, Mrs. Jones was left to one conclusion. He was not fine. He was not better. He was not coming back.

And Alex Rider was too dangerous to be allowed to leave. Not with the kind of resources he had access to.

If Alex wasn't coming back to MI6, if he wasn't going to stay where she could keep an eye on him, it left her with few options. Mrs. Jones would be the first to say that Alex had been treated unfairly by MI6. Used and discarded on a whim.

When Alex had been with them, this didn't present as a problem. Sure there was an underlying resentment, but at the end of the day Alex was on their side. This no longer seemed to be the case. There was a good chance that Alex could turn on them, he had done it before after all. Mrs. Jones wasn't even sure she would blame him.

The risk that Alex could spread confidential information (that he might _want_ to in way of revenge) was prominent. The fact that Alex's contacts were both governmental _and_ criminal. The fact that Alex's nature meant he was likely to seek out unsanctioned trouble. He could still interfere, still get in trouble. Mrs. Jones couldn't have that.

It was much more than a whim this time, but the result was the same. Another unfair act against their youngest operative. He had been used, and now it was time to discard.

She picked up the phone, and ordered the burn on Agent Alex Rider.

* * *

/Joe Byrne/

He stared down at the mission file, trying desperately to think of an alternative. His original plan had been to ask MI6 to borrow an agent, but the one he needed was… no longer a viable option.

He needed someone young. Someone who could pass as a high school drug runner.

Miles Longman Junior was a senior student at a high school in Miami. His father ran one of the largest gangs in the southeast United States. The MLG, originally called the Miles Longman Gang but recently referred to as the Major Leagues Gang, has become a huge player in the drug market.

Longman's mansion in Florida seemed to be the base of operations, but had thus far proved impossible to gain access to. Byrne suspected that Longman had the local police force in his pocket.

But there were people that had access to the house. People that were in the gang. Not the adults, of course not - they were too easily corrupted. Longman knew that the risk of one of his adult members flipping sides was high.

But his sons friends? The ones that ran drugs for fun? To spite mommy and daddy? For a little bonus pocket cash? Well, they were hardly a risk now were they?

As long as Junior was living in the house, his friends had access. That was an opening. After Junior graduated, Byrne was worried that their window of opportunity would close.

They had tried everything, for two years they had attempted to infiltrate this gang. Numerous undercover agents, none had made it. Now, they had one semester left before Junior was off at whatever upper class university his dad decided on. Most likely out of state, possible even out of the country.

Byrne was getting desperate, and when good guys get desperate, the other side of things starts looking tempting. That's why he was here now, looking at a list of available… bad guys.

His eyes caught on a name he recognized, Yassen Gregorovich. An assassin that Byrne was aware had gotten back into the game after being shot not long prior. But it wasn't Gregorovich he was interested in. The file said that he had been spotted in Singapore working security for a wealthy politician and his two kids - and Gregorovich had brought a kid of his own.

Byrne was also aware that at the time of Gregorovich being shot, Alex Rider had been present. That was one hell of a coincidence, that when he was looking for someone to replace Rider, he found a possibility along side Yassen Gregorovich, who had been undeniably entangled with the Rider family.

Maybe the assassin had seen Alex's potential, and sought to replicate it. Maybe he had decided to take on an apprentice, much like John Rider had done with him.

Whatever the reason, Byrne was willing to take advantage. He picked up the phone, ready to call as many people as needed to get in contact with Gregorovich and his new, young prodigy.

* * *

/Tulip Jones/

Another late night, but that was nothing new. In fact, Mrs. Jones would have found it more odd if she _had_ gotten off on time. There was a knock on the door - Mrs. Jones was comforted knowing that other people were burning the midnight oil as well.

She pressed a button under the table - one of three. One was a call button for her deputy, that one was in the center. The one on the left was a panic button that would put the whole building on lockdown and bring armed agents bursting in. The one on the right, the one she pressed, simply unlocked her door.

"Come in," she called, quickly wiping the tired expression from her face.

John Crawley entered, a mug of coffee in one hand and a file in the other. He sat across from her, sliding the warm drink across the desk. Mrs. Jones accepted gratefully, a few sips enough to perk her up.

"Agent Crawley, what can I do for you?"

"Well," Crawley's lips pulled up in a mockery of a smile, "I actually think I can do something for you. Or, the CIA can. Joe Byrne called"

Mrs. Jones kept her face blank. She had not been in contact with the CIA for months, and had not had direct contact with Joe Byrne even longer.

"You recall the mission that you and Mr. Byrne discussed," Crawley continued. "The one for… Agent Rider."

There was no need to ask which Rider was in question. In fact, all three Rider's were unimportant now. John, Ian, Alex. Dead, dead, and as good as. It all amounted to the same thing. All out of the game, and thus inconsequential.

"I recall," Jones replied. "It was put on the back burner after Rider's… unfortunate accident."

"Indeed," Crawley agreed. "After Rider disappeared, we didn't think the mission was doable. It didn't work without him. But now, I think we have a substitute. Courtesy of Joe Byrne."

Mrs. Jones frowned, intrigued. "They have a… teenage agent?" The CIA had tried that before. It hadn't worked. Not until Alex.

"No, but it seems someone does," Crawley went on. "A freelancer. Just came on the radar a few months ago."

Her frown deepened. Her first thought was that this must be Alex. A teenage freelance agent appears, already trained, just a year after Alex dropped off the grid? That was too big a coincidence to ignore.

Anyway, the likelihood of another trained teen existing wasn't high.

But then, Mrs. Jones had read the medical file. The doctors had seemed sure that Alex wouldn't recover, it couldn't be him. It was impossible.

Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. That may have been said by a fictional character, but that didn't make it any less true.

It looked like there was a new piece on the chess board.

"How do we contact this operative?"

* * *

 **AN:**

Let me know what you think of the first little bit!


	3. Maximum Security

Alex read over the encrypted file he had been sent, no more than a paragraph long. A simple mission outline - no names, no locations, just a generality. The rest would come after he accepted, but Alex wasn't worried. He had gone on missions with less than what was on the screen now and come out on top.

"So?" Yassen asked. It had taken Alex the better part of the day to convince the man he knew what he was getting into. "What's the mission then?"

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it," Alex said jokingly, Yassen raised an eyebrow. "Is to infiltrate a maximum security juvenile prison based on Montserrat. Befriend and gain access to three high profile prisoners, further information pending. Your undercover identity and method of infiltration will be up to your discretion."

"You think you can handle prison?" Yassen asked, leaning back on the bed, eyebrows high.

Alex snapped the laptop closed, smiling. He tossed it to the side of the couch and stood, stalking purposefully up to the bed.

"I can handle you," he said, bracing his arms on either side of Yassen, lips millimeters away, "So a stint in Juvie will be child's play."

"Okay," Yassen nodded, speaking in little more than a breath. "I trust you."

* * *

It was almost three in the morning, but that was near midday back in England. Alex sat back against Yassen's chest, reclined on the bed. Yassen was dozing behind him.

He had his laptop perching in front of him, brightness lowered but still enough to cast an eerie glow around them. His finger hovered over the enter button for a moment, then clicked.

 _Mission accepted_.

The reply came moments later, a completely secure link to the full contents of the mission file. He opened it, eyes locking in on a single name that set his teeth on edge.

 _Hugo Grief._

He looked away, took a deep breath, then tried to read the file from the start.

 _Location: Prison of Montserrat, in association with Gibraltar and Anguilla._

 _Agencies involved: MI6 (primary), CIA (secondary)._

 _*All precautions should be taken to keep the security of Montserrat unaware of the operation._

 _Objective: infiltrate Montserrat in order to gain access to high profile prisoners Napoleon Grief, Joseph Grief and Leopold Grief - three of the sixteen clones created by Dr. Hugo Grief. Acquire information about the current location of Adolf Grief - recent escapee of Anguilla prison. Investigate method of contact between Adolf Grief and previously mentioned prisoners. Acquire information about any escape/rescue plan in place pertaining to the Grief's._

 _Main objective: ensure the continued imprisonment of Napoleon, Joseph and Leopold Grief. Obtain information leading to the recapture of Adolf Grief._

Alex bit his cheek, deliberating over the file. It was odd, the way this mission was seemingly tailored just for him. A Juvenile British prison containing three of Dr. Griefs sixteen clones. Three of the … surviving clones.

There was a link here taking him to a file on Dr. Grief and the other clones. The Point Blanc mission report that Alex was more than familiar with, culminating in Hugo Grief's death by snowmobile.

Since then, several of the other clones had perished. Julius by Alex's hand - he had been the only one imprisoned on Gibraltar.

Two of the brothers kept in Anguilla had died in an escape attempt. Somehow, Adolf Grief had not been apart of that.

Others that had been kept in British, American and French facilities had died as well. Attempting to escape. Suicide. Unfortunate accidents.

Only seven of the Griefs remained. Adolf, the eldest, on the run. Napoleon, Joseph, and Leopold, all in Montserrat. Vladimir and Nicholas, who were kept in a British mainland prison, and Francisco who was currently in an American offshore prison.

Naturally, he recognized the name Gibraltar as the prison Julius Grief escaped from. Montserrat and Anguilla were two other British overseas territory islands that - apparently - held prisons capable of containing psychopathic clones.

Or not capable, considering that both Julius and now Adolf had found a way out.

It would be a tough mission - harder still because he would have to keep MI6 in the dark about his real identity. Not an easy feat to accomplish, considering he would be in a British run facility.

But due to the secrecy of the prison and its inmates, there was no recording devices with the facility. Cameras, sure, but they only relayed footage to the control room and no further. So aside from running into an actual human being that could identify him… he should be safe.

The likelihood of someone working in the prison that knew him was low. Few people had been aware of him during his time with MI6 - considering the illegality of it all. Furthermore, the Warden and other prisoner staff were primarily ex-army. No one that should have access to information about him.

His cover story might prove to be a problem. Alex knew exactly what his alias should be, but if anyone at '6 got wind of it, it would raise a red flag or two. But again, MI6 had done him a favour. They were allowing him to handle his own cover, and that meant Alex could keep the information isolated.

Part of the file had told him the agencies involved in the operation. MI6 primarily, as it was a British prison, with some help from the CIA due to suspicions of Adolf Grief hiding in America. The staff at Montserrat, however, weren't supposed to be aware of the mission, which meant that the staff there weren't trusted. Likely MI6 thought that the escape of Adolf Grief was an inside job, and didn't want to risk trusting the wrong person. So, there would be no contact between Montserrat and MI6.

Which was perfect for Alex. He could give Montserrat any story he wanted and MI6 wouldn't know. Even once he was in the prison MI6 wouldn't have eyes on him. If they tried to interfere in the prison, a mole would know something was up.

They may send in at most one undercover agent posing as a guard to keep an eye on him, but the chance of it being someone who could expose him were slim to none.

Most of the agents Alex had been familiar with were dead. That, far too high profile to be a secondary on a mission delegated to an outside organization.

Overall, Alex was confident in his ability to complete the mission, as well as stay anonymous. It would be tough, but then, what in Alex's life wasn't?

* * *

Three days later, Alex found himself in a prison jumpsuit, chained by the wrists and ankles in the back of a transport van. The steel box had no windows to the outside. There was a small, barred, ten centimetre squared slot that peered into the driver's seat. Bars to close together for Alex to get his hands through, even if he managed to get out of the chains.

He had been in the back of the van for hours now, starting on a ferry before docking on Montserrat island. They had been speeding down one of the few maintained roads ever since.

The van turned off the main road onto a bumpy side path. Every rock and pothole had Alex bouncing in his seat. His bones rattled along with the clanking chains.

He leaned forwards, looking through the bars and out the front windshield. He watched as the rocky landscape flowed seamlessly into a tall, stone building. The prison was perched precariously atop an outcrop, overlooking the crashing ocean below. There was a precipice on three sides, and the fourth was what they were approaching.

Completely treeless for miles, Alex had no idea how anyone could escape.

What little sun that had crept into his transport prison was blocked out as the building looked over them. He was plunged into shadows. He felt the van decelerate, rolling to an unsteady stop.

There was shouting. Alex caught the words _prison transfer_ and _Gibraltar._ He heard a commanding voice shout to keep weapons at the ready.

There was a knock at the front of the vehicle, and Alex looked up. Blue eyes peered through the small slit in the wall.

"Good luck," Yassen whispered.

"I'll see you soon," Alex said just as quietly. "I love you."

"Love you too."

And then the doors at the back of the van were being thrown open. A large, intimidating man jumped in. Two others followed - all the men so equally menacing and muscles that they could have been triplets. Triplets with a daily subscription to the gym.

Alex's hands were unlocked from the walls, and then clipped together. His ankles unshackled from the floor, and the chained together. He was dragged wordlessly from the van.

Blinding sunlight struck him like a physical blow. He blinked and stumbled, being roughly pulled along by the upper arms.

He was led the few feet to the front door, which was locked securely behind him. Down a metal corridor, at the end of which he was unchained and shoved into a small cubical.

Three of the walls around him were mirrored - Alex guessed one way. The door he had just walked through was shut tightly and locked from the outside. It was completely transparent, bullet proof glass. The three guards stood in the other side.

With barely enough room to turn a full rotation, or even to stand really, he was ordered to strip. He passed the prison jumpsuit he had arrived in, along with his pants, through a cat-flap like slot. One of the guards confiscated it.

There was an awkward moment when the guards were just waiting, staring at him stark naked in front of them. He guessed that a series of scans was taking place, behind the mirrors, similar to the elevator in the Royal and General. Can't teach an old dog new tricks.

One of the guards must have gotten the go ahead, because a new prison uniform was produced and slid through the slot. It landed in a rumpled heap on the floor, and Alex bent awkwardly to retrieve the garment.

Nearly identical to jumpsuit he had worn before, except that this one was grey instead of orange. On the back, in large, white, reflective printing, was the number _09_. His prison number. Nine inmates in this entire fortress, a place equipped to hold over a hundred prisoners. Nine prisoners under the care of dozens of guards.

Again, Alex wondered how on earth someone could escape from this place.

He dressed, and was ordered to put his hands on the back wall while the guards unlocked the door again. He did, and soon he was back in chains and being dragged down the corridor again.

The metal hallways twisted and turned. Alex had seen the schematics of the place. Similar to an old fashioned castle, there were two sections. The outer wall that he was in now - he guessed this was mostly for the guards, and for new prisoners to be checked.

He was led through a door, stepping back I to sunlight. There, he saw the second part of the prison. A tower - like a keep - in the center of a wide open field that was likely used for inmate exercise. The sun was getting low, so no one was out anymore.

Inside the tower, on the first level, there were guard stations. The warden's office. Etcetera. There was one large staircase - wide open and in central view - which Alex was led up.

The next level was one large room. There were several metal tables bolted to the ground, and one long table at the front of the room. A dining hall.

The levels above would be the inmates cells. Only two were in use.

The prison was seemingly very open. Alex didn't see any guards aside from those apart of his detail. To an untrained eye, the prison looked woefully unguarded.

Alex knew differently. He recognized the thin seams in the walls that outlined doors. From the schematics, he knew that these led to guard stations.

Several on every floor, each one equipped to hold up to ten guards, though there was usually only two or three. Enough on each floor, though, that there were at least two guards per prisoner no matter where they were.

Then there was the cameras. None that recorder, for confidentialities sake, but they littered every inch of the prison. He knew that in every guard room they had access to watch the cameras. That guards were on a constant rotation to watch the prisoners.

They were under twenty four hour observation. They just couldn't see the prying eyes.

Alex was brought to the fourth floor. Several corridors that were all cordoned off except one. He was led down the middle, past metal doors. He glanced in the barrel windows, eyes flickering around the empty cells.

In the middle of the hallway, a door was opened and Alex was shoved inside. One guard unlocked his chains while the other two held him at gunpoint. The chains were taken away, and the guards backed out while Alex started down the barrels of their guns.

The doors shut. Alex examined the cell.

He might as well have stayed in the van - the cell was almost identical to it. Metal walls, one barred window looking into the hallway. The only differences was that instead of a metal bench he had a metal frame bed and a single metal side table with one drawer and an industrial lamp.

Everything bolted down. Nothing he could take apart. Not even a bathroom.

He was about to sit on his bunk when a voice rung out.

"Julius?" A young voice, it echoed through the empty floor.

Alex stood, looking out his window and into the cell across from him.

He almost balked at the sight, though he had been expecting it. Brown hair, brown eyes, pale. The spitting image of his friend James Sprintz. It was unnerving.

But after a closer examination, he could see the differences that time had brought about. Where genetics and surgical alteration branches away from each other.

The last time he had seen James, less than a year ago, he had grown and changed. Hit a growth spurt, now a head taller than Alex. From what he could tell, the boy in the other cell wouldn't be more than a few inches taller than himself.

Leopold wouldn't have been much older than Julius - maybe a few months? - and genetically they were near identical.

Furthermore, the real James Sprintz had tanned substantially from vacation in the Bahamas, whereas the clone was still pale from spending much of his time indoors.

Also, the last time he had seen James, his friend had gained a small, white scar below his left ear. Apparently, the teen had cut himself rather badly when shaving for the first time. He had tried using an old fashioned blade, like his father, rather than a safer razor, and he had paid the price.

 _Although, I tell the girls that I got it fighting off a group of muggers,_ James had told him.

Alex shook the memories from his head and smiled back at the slightly off kilter image of his friend, closing his hands around the bars in front of him.

"Leo!" He called, tilting his head in the kind of unhinged gesture he remembered Julius Grief displaying. "It's good to see you, brother."

Leopold Grief jumped in a hysterical way, then slammed an open palm on the metal walls. The thud echoed.

"Guys!" Leopold called, showing off his perfectly constructed teeth. "It's Jules!"

Alex couldn't see them, but voices emitied from his right. The cell next to him, and the cell next to Leopold. The voices of Napoleon and Joseph Grief joined that of Leopold. For all the world, they sounded like three young brothers, excited to see their younger brother again.

Alex smiled and laughed along, trying to pretend that a family reunion in maximum security prison wasn't unusual at all.

* * *

They spent hours - most of the night - talking through the metal doors. Alex sat on the cold floor, having tugged the thin blanket of the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. He leaned back against the door, head tilted skyward.

This was the moment of truth. He had done what he could, researching Julius Grief, but there was little to find. These clones, his brothers, had grown up with Julius. They were all near identical. They would be a tough audience.

Alex was relying on the fact that they hadn't seen Julius in years. Also, that being imprisoned had kept them out of the loop. They wouldn't have known about Julius' death - about anything after Point Blanc.

Julius had managed to convincingly impersonate Alex after a week of observation. Alex had tried to impersonate Julius, back in Cairo with Razim. It had worked for a time, but ultimately Razim had seen through it. He needed to be more convincing this time.

He told the three Griefs about escaping Point Blanc. Told them how he had tried to kill Alex Rider, but had been captured and locked up on Gibraltar.

He relayed the events of his escape, thanks to Scorpia, and how he had helped Razim in his plan to bring MI6's downfall. The Horseman file.

He laughed as he described Jack's death - keeping his voice unnervingly cheerful while tears slid down his cheeks. He was thankful for the solid walls between them.

Then he told them how Alex Rider had escaped, and that's where the story changed. He said how they had stood in a field and held each other at gunpoint. How he had goaded Alex Rider, and they had simultaneously shot each other.

Alex Rider is dead, he said, met with a round of cheers. I shot him in the heart, he said.

"That kid always did have too much heart," Napoleon laughed. "It was going to kill him eventually."

He went on to explain that he had been hit, too, just above the heart. Right where his old sniper injury was, just in case they ever asked for proof. He said that while he was passed out, bleeding and sweating into the red dust of Cairo, he had been arrested.

They had kept him in a base, chained to a table. Tortured and interrogated. They wanted information about Scorpia. The Horseman file. Later, they asked about Adolf. Our older brother, he said. He escaped.

That's when they transferred him here. Gibraltar clearly wasn't enough to hold him - a pitiful prison. It couldn't even contain the youngest Grief brother.

So now he was here, in Montserrat, and he couldn't _wait_ until Adolf got them out of here.

* * *

The next morning, Alex woke with a crick in his neck and a numb leg. He had fallen asleep against the cold door, which had leached any energy right out of him.

He heard footsteps down the hall. At least two pairs, each footstep echoing loudly. The thuds halted in unison, just out of sight of the door. Alex had risen to his feet, and peering out the window he saw Leopold had done the same.

There was a click, and the whoosh of a door opening. Footsteps, but no talking. It seemed that everyone knew the drill. This repeated twice more before he heard the tell tale turning of his own doors locks.

"Inmate nine, place both hands on the far wall," a familiar voice called through the door.

Alex obliged quickly, jumping up from his spot on the floor. His muscles creaked in protest at the sudden movement. He placed his palms on the cold metal walls, pressing them tightly against the surface and watching as the surrounding skin turned white.

Light, almost unnoticeable footsteps approached. Gentle hands ran over his arms, legs, and body in way of a pat down. The hands lingered slightly on his waist, bringing a soft smile to Alex's face, then they were gone.

"Turn around."

He did so, spinning slowly showing as little threat as possible. He kept his hands up, palms out in supplication. Standing in front of him, just inside the cell, was a familiar blue eyed figure. Alex hid his smile behind a scowl, just to put on a show for the other two guards standing behind Yassen.

Yassen raised a large gun that had been resting against his hip on a shoulder strap, threateningly gesturing for Alex to exit the cell. Alex took the opportunity to examin the gun - something he had been a bit busy for when he had first arrived.

It was an odd contraption. Alex could see evidence of thermal sensing as well as fingerprint recognition encasing the trigger, ensuring that no prisoner has the chance to arm themselves. The cartridges also looked different - Alex guessed that they could load bullets for both stunning and killing, should the situation call for it.

Alex calmly walked forward, dropping his hands to his sides. He frowned at the guards, letting his eyes dart around in the jittery way Julius had done when the clone had been feeling nervous.

Alex wasn't sure how he had picked up these subtle traits of a boy he had hardly known. He wasn't even aware he had this knowledge until he had been deep in thought about if he could convincingly play the role. Perhaps - strapped to that chair, the worst day of his life - he had been hypersensitive of the person that had brought his whole world to a grinding halt. A heart stopping standstill.

Whatever the reason, he was grateful now. It allowed him to get in character. Alex would have to be a true method actor for this to work. He needed to be _indistinguishable_ from the real Julius, and not to just anyone. He had to convince his family. Brothers. They people Julius had grown up with.

From the outside, the Grief family had seemed twisted and warped. Sixteen sons born of sixteen different women? All genetic carbon copies of the 'father' that had spliced their DNA in some sick science experiment?It could hardly be considered a family at all. More akin to a group of lab rats participating in a particularly horrific study.

But then, no family is perfect. Alex's own uncle had trained him from birth to be a spy - raising him to undoubtedly join the world of espionage that had killed his father. Had taken him on missions disguised as vacations, no doubt using Alex's age as a cover, long before MI6 ever got that same notion. Alex had gone on just as Ian intended - living the life that had ultimately signed the death warrant of his father, mother, uncle, and best friend.

Like he said, no family is perfect.

Outsiders may look in with the horror of someone watching a destructive car crash, but they are _outsiders._ To Julius, to his brothers, this was their family. Alex had to fit in. He knew he could convince the outsiders - the ones that only see a portion of the action, the finished product thrown up on the silver screen. It wasn't the outsiders he was worried about. It was the insiders.

He had to convince the people that had known Julius better than anyone else. They people that had been first hand witnessed to the bloopers and removed scenes. The ones that had looked at the cutting room floor of Julius' life. That would be much more of a challenge.

With a cynical smile, head cocked slightly to the side, eyes roaming, Alex was led down the prison hallways. One guard led the way, opening doors and scouting ahead. Another stood immediately in front of him, gun at the ready. Yassen brought up the rear, cool muzzle of a gun pressed against his spine through the thin prison jumpsuit.

Down a flight of wide stairs, Alex came into view of the cafeteria. Dozens of tables, but only three of them were in use.

The first table was home to three girls sitting in a triangular formation. One looked up and flashed Alex a toothy grin as he walked past. Alex could see a string of numbers tattooed on her neck in striking black ink.

The next held two boys - dark haired, similar in looks and height - possibly twins? They looked up in unison as he was corralled past. They looked oddly young, with round, babyish faces, but there was a kind of intelligence in their eyes.

Then the last table. Three brothers that looked nothing alike. Different height, different hair, different eyes, but all with the same cultivated mannerisms. Sitting feet apart, raising spoonfuls of food in sync, one hand rested on their knee. It was erie.

He sat down, eyes flickering to take in everything he could. A tray of food was slammed down harshly in front of him, and Alex scooped up his spoon quickly. He wrapped his fingers around the handle, scrupulously copying the boy across from him, and quickly falling into the other boys rhythm. One wrong move and his bluff could be called.

Alex hoped he was up to the task.

Alex had expected an immediate interrogation from the other boys. Yes, they had spoken throughout most of the night, but talking through walls was insurmountably different from face to face.

However, the boys seemed content to just eat their breakfast. Probably due to the close proximity of the constant array of guards, lurking just at the edge of their vision, a flicker of dark clothing here and there.

Alex took the opportunity to examine his quarry. A few years after Point Blanc, the clones had grown and changed enough that they didn't look quite like the boys they had been made to imitate.

Leopold, the second youngest of the Griefs, only just older than Julius himself, had branched considerably from the image of James Sprintz.

Napoleon was the second oldest, a six month gap between him and Adolf. The boy looked around nineteen - would have been younger when Alex had arrived at Point Blanc. Bright blue eyes, blond hair, red lips that pulled into a smile revealing flawlessly straight teeth. Surgically altered perfection.

He had been one of the first to branch out into the world, infiltrating the family of a wealthy business president from New York. This had been the man that had contacted MI6, bringing the Gemini Project to light. Napoleon had killed the man before Alex had even been called.

Then there was Joseph, the third clone to exist. He, too, had blue eyes and blond hair. Had, in fact, been modeled to look of Russian descent. Sitting there, Alex was hopelessly reminded of Yassen, the assassin standing not far to the right of the table. Though, Joseph had a thinner upper lip, as well as deeper set eyes. Plus, his blond hair was darker than Yassens, and straighter as well.

Alex recalled that Joseph had gone undercover as Dimitry Ivanov, son of the Russian general Viktor Ivanov. The two had had an 'argument' that had resulted in General Ivanov's prompt assassination.

A red light blinked overhead, bathing Alex in a devilish ambiance. He looked up, startled, wondering if that was some kind of alarm. However, the other prisoners seemed wholly unconcerned. Napolean rose to sure feet, juggling his tray of demolished food. The older boy led his brothers towards the far door where he had entered yeasterday. Alex followed suit.

They made their way outside as a group - Alex pictured a group of coldblooded predators, sharks maybe. Or crocodiles, Alex had plenty of experience with those particular animals. Blood thirsty, on the hunt, and always coiled to attack.

They stepped outside, into the bright sun that was mostly blocked by the towering walls. A hand clamped on his shoulder - Napoleon Grief steered him into the center yard. Alex glanced back once, catching a fleeting glimpse of Yassen before the two other boys blocked him from sight.

Much the same way the walls blocked out the sun.

* * *

 **AN:**

Hey everyone! Sorry for the wait, but I decided to type out an extra long chapter because...

I am leaving for spring break! I'm going on a volunteer trip to Guatemala, and will not be able to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) for quite a while. It will likely be two weeks until I can post again.

Please leave a review! I would love to come home to your thoughts.

Also, nothing in this story is really set in stone - I just have a general idea of where I want it to go. So I would really appreciate any suggestions you might have. Let me know what you want to see, and it may appear in this story or one of my others.

Thanks! See you soon!


	4. Make a Break

Yassen watched from afar, trying to keep a neutral expression as Alex walked across the yard. The thought crossed his mind that if the three clones were to attack, Alex was almost too far for him to help. He was a crack shot, and he was equipped with a stun gun as well as live ammunition, but still, the farther Alex walked the more nervous Yassen became.

He didn't like this mission. He didn't like Alex getting involved with MI6 again - or the CIA for that matter. He didn't like Alex getting tangled up with his past, especially one as dangerous as the Griefs.

He had tried to talk Alex out of this particular assignment - he really had - but the boy was insistent. Stubborn through and through. In the end, Yassen was the one being convinced. Now he was here, dressed in security garb, wondering what Alex's plan was.

Hopefully nothing too dangerous.

(Likely something outrageously dangerous.)

He watched from across the yard, keeping up the pretense of a a guard diligently doing his job. In reality, he was examining Alex's facial expressions, body language, reading his lips, trying to get the gist of their conversation.

He caught Alex's slightly defensive stance, like he was poised for flight. The gestures he was consciously using, gestures that didn't belong to him, but to a boy years dead. Caught the question on his lips: _tonight?_

That put Yassen on edge. What was happening tonight?

(Likely something outrageously dangerous.)

* * *

Yassen couldn't sleep, hadn't even bothered to try.

He stood in his standard issue guards room - barely bigger than the prison cells, and no more homey. He was fully dressed, the black uniform mirroring his mood. His gun was strapped to his side, accompanied by a few more strategically placed weapons.

Night had fallen, and Yassen couldn't keep his mind off Alex's conversation. Tonight. It was just a word, and with no context Yassen couldn't claim to know what it meant. Instinct alone made him think that it was something big.

He had tried to catch Alex's eye during dinner, but the boy was wholly consumed in his character and refused to engage.

Alternatively, he had tried to think up a legitimate reason to pull Alex aside. This would have been easy if the other guards were in on the mission, but they weren't. He and Alex had to keep the staff of Montserrat from becoming aware of their mission.

The only problem with that is that now _Yassen_ was unaware of what was happening, and it had barely been a day. This mission was going south, and fast.

As if the universe was trying to prove him right (Yassen was often right, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it) the alarms started blaring.

Calmly, he turned to look out of his window. Lights were rotating and roving the yard. Dogs that Yassen hadn't seen a glimpse of previously were filling the yard, their handlers holding a leash in one hand and a gun in the other.

Guards were pouring from every visible opening (and some invisible ones). Orders were called over the piercing alarm.

In the distance, past the wall and barbed wire and guards, Yassen caught sight of four, small figures. They were illuminated for just a second by a scanning search light, the reflective numbers _09_ glowed for a moment before disappearing into the night.

Yassen unholstered his gun, preparing to go out and create the pretense that he was a trustworthy guard.

He really hoped Alex knew what he was doing.

* * *

/Alex/

There was almost a physical pain associated with not being able to look at Yassen. A knot in his gut, pressure in his lungs. Similar to being sucker punched.

Alex sat at the dining table, his fake brothers around him. He was focusing on raising and lowering his spoon in sync with the others, but a part of his attention was firmly on Yassen.

The man stood across from him next to a wall. One hand rested subtly on his baton. Alex could tell Yassen was trying to get his attention, but knew that he needed to stay in character. He would try and get an update to Yassen later tonight… if he got the chance.

And that was the other thing. Things were moving a lot faster than anticipated, and Alex needed to make a choice.

 _Main objective: ensure the continued imprisonment of Napoleon, Joseph and Leopold Grief. Obtain information leading to the recapture of Adolf Grief._

That's what the file had said - Alex had assumed it would take longer than a day to complete these objectives. Yet here he was, sitting on information that could both ensure the three brothers continued imprisonment, as well as possibly lead to the capture of Adolf Grief.

Alex should be over the moon. Should be cashing in this information for his paycheck. But… it was the _possibly_ that made him hesitate.

The three Grief brothers had told him - ecstatically - that they had been in contact with their eldest brother. By some stroke of lucky (or unlucky) timing, they had planned an escape for _tonight_.

That was a lot faster than Alex or MI6 had predicted, and that meant a few things.

One, if Alex passed on the information and left, his cover was blown. There's no way the Griefs would believe that Julius had been transferred to and from Montserrat in the space of a couple days.

Two, MI6 would be unlikely to have the time necessary to plan a good counter to the Griefs plan - furthermore, Alex didn't know the whole plan. His 'brothers' had said it was easier if he just followed their lead. He would be handing over half information, which might mean that all four Griefs escape.

Alex couldn't stand for that.

Most missions, it wouldn't be his problem. But this one… as much as Alex wished he could separate it from himself - as much as he had told Yassen it wasn't personal - it was personal.

Alex made the decision.

* * *

Alex sat on his bunk, a serene calm overtaking him.

He hadn't managed to contact Yassen, which meant that his only ally was firmly in the dark. The Griefs hadn't been as forthcoming with information as Alex had hoped, which meant that he was in the dark as well.

Alex had heard a lot of inspirational sayings that stemmed from being in the dark: without darkness there can be no light and so on and so forth. A lovely concept, but Alex had grown to realize that darkness was just that.

Dark.

There is no beauty to it, no lessons to be learned, no light to follow. If you were in the dark, God help you, because no one else could.

Alex was in the dark, and now he was praying.

A sharp click echoed through the small cell. The lock turning on his cell door. Alex glanced up, watching the metal sheet tilt inward, ever so slightly.

His body moved on autopilot, rising and exiting the cell. The three other boys were smiling happily, bouncing on their heels like baby birds freed from their cage for the first time.

Wordlessly, Napoleon took the lead down the hallway. Joseph walked closely on his older brothers heels. Leopold hopped once, bumping Alex's shoulder, then grabbing Alex's hand. Fingers interlocked, Alex was dragged down the corridor.

At the staircase, Alex was surprised when they turned up instead of down. Still, he followed quietly, allowing their plan to unfold.

Up a set of stairs, to an uninhibited floor. Alex wondered how they hadn't been caught yet. Between the cameras and the patrols, they shouldn't have made it outside of their cells, let alone as far as this.

Unless of course MI6's paranoia was well founded, and there were traitors in Montserrat. Alex wouldn't be surprised.

A door led to what appeared to be a service staircase - Montserrat wasn't always a prison after all. Alex guessed that this was used for guards now, rather than servants.

They bundled in, one at a time, going down in a line. Leopold was giggling just in front of Alex, Napoleon turned back once to shush them, but gave a maniacal chuckle of his own immediately afterwards.

Alex was thankful it was so dark. His heart was racing, sweat beaded on his forehead. He took a shaky breath, and tried to play it off like excitement.

He calmed himself by counting the steps. One, two, three… fifty, fifty-one… one hundred…

Ground floor.

And then farther. Alex was surprised, he hadn't realized there was an underground to the prison.

Alex stumbled with how fast they were descending - he imagined he could feel his ears pop with the change. They hit level floor again, and Alex finally deduced what Montserrat was.

A mine. Coal, Alex thought, judging by the smell. They were in mining tunnels. Huh.

He did his best to walk quietly, but the rounded walls and the deep stone made echos out of the smallest sounds. Even his breath was a liability, so Alex did his best not to breathe.

The tunnels seemed to stretch forever - Alex had no idea how far they went. From one side of the island to the other? It sure felt that way.

Which raised another question: how had they not been stopped by now? Should there be guards down here - it's a perfect escape route. How could their security be so tight everywhere else, and yet so lax here?

Whatever the reason, the Griefs had take advantage. If there hadn't been so many twists and turns, Alex wagered they could have been off the island by now.

Leopold tugged on his hand as they sharply turned right, then released him as the tunnel contracted in size. It must have been some kind of emergency or air shaft it was so small. Eventually they were forced to their knees, crawling through the tunnel.

Rocks bit into his palms and scraped across his knees. A sense of claustrophobia crept in, but Alex pushed it away and kept moving. The roof of the tunnel was scraping his back by the time they reached a dead end.

Napoleon, in the lead, pushed upwards, opening an overhead hatch. Moonlight poured in, and Alex made a point of wiping emotion from his face, now that he could be seen.

Up they went, in a not so graceful fashion. Alex looked around, finding them ages away from the prison, at the edge of the treeline. The prison rose darkly, silhouetted by the moon. Roving lights passed by, inches from where they stood. Alex could hear the alarms going off even from here.

"Ready, baby brother?"

Alex flinched, looking back at the group. Napoleon, Joseph, and Leopold stood in a group, smiling widely. None of them had spoken however - no, that had come from the boy standing behind them.

Tall, with black curly hair and a tan complection. Dark eyes that glinted in the night. A childish, mischievous smile that made it hard to believe this boy was a psychopathic murderer.

Alex copied the smile, showing off his teeth. "Hi Aldof."

* * *

/Yassen/

Yassen stood outside the walls now, under the guise of securing the perimeter. His gun dangled at his side as he looked to where Alex had last been seen, disappearing into the forest.

Yassen sighed, trying to expel some of the stress he was feeling. Spoiler alert: it didn't work.

God, Alex would be the death of him.

He straightened, feeling a presence at his side and assuming it was another guard. He turned, expecting another harried, panicked security person.

The man he saw, however, seem wholly unconcerned. He had short black hair and dark blue eyes that reflected calmness and thoughtfulness. He had square features, high cheekbones and thin lips pulled into a smirk.

He turned towards Yassen, speaking in what Yassen deduced to be a Liverpudlian accent. "I hope the kid knows what he's doing."

At first, Yassen said nothing. There was an underlying message there - more than one, in fact. More than Yassen cared to unravel.

"As do I."

* * *

 **AN:**

Hi everyone! So sorry that I haven`t updated in ages! I was volunteering in Guatemala, then I was finishing up some university courses, then I was graduating high school, so its been a wild few months! But it is summer now, and hopefully I will be back to regular updates. In fact, I got inspired for a couple other stories that I will be working on, so follow me if you want to know when those come out.

Thanks for being so patient. I know this wasn`t the most exciting chapter (Honestly, I`ve been struggling with this story) but it`ll be uphill from here! I can feel the inspiration!

Stay tuned for more!


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